Five Strong Reasons
by 94 Bottles Of Snapple
Summary: Claire Stanfield had more than one reason for becoming a conductor. In fact, he had five.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Yeah, yeah, I shouldn't be starting a new story when I still have fairytales to write… Whatever. I don't own Claire Stanfield, anyone else I happen to mention, or Baccano! **

In Which Claire Stanfield Is Thinking

_"—everything I know about being a conductor!"_

_ "Your ticket, please…"_

_ "—fine passengers… Except for the kid."_

_ "— nor am I a conductor."_

A… Conductor. No. Claire Stanfield wasn't a railroad conductor anymore. Not… Anymore. As if… It were something so easy to give up.

In a way, it was. If only on… On the hope that Chane would…

But he had to find her first, of course.

In any case that wasn't the point. The point was… It was…

Being a conductor was important to him.

Claire would… He'd give up anything for Chane. But.

There were… It was an important part of his life, being a conductor. A relatively… Normal part. A haven in… In his fragmented life, even.

Because, more than anything… It was a job he'd gotten attached to. Something he could treasure. It was… Nice.

But that wasn't it. Per say. That wasn't all of it, everything about the matter.

He had more than one reason for becoming a conductor in the first place. In fact, he had five.

Five reasons that tied him so closely to the rails.

Five reasons… For Claire Stanfield to become the Rail Tracer.

Things so important… That it was something he would make of himself. That he could make himself into a monster, like that. And even though everything was fake, or all in his mind… It was still important, because… This was his world, and it was how he'd wished it. So surely things had been laid out for him in just this way.

But it was still too bad… That he couldn't follow up.

That is to say… Tony had been thinking that Claire would take over as head conductor for the Flying Pussyfoot.

Then again, Claire had thought that the old man was simply going to retire, not be killed by some psychopath even before the departure on Tony's last trip with the train. It was a cruel thing.

But Claire was a strong man.

And he still…

Could linger on his five reasons without… Without…

He wasn't going to cry, because that wasn't something he did.

So he smiled instead, and he carried on.

Because he still…

He still needed to find Chane, didn't he.

And there were so many memories in New York City. So he would linger a while. And that was fine.


	2. Convenience

**A/N: Do not own me any Baccano! It is a sad thing.**

In Which Things Are Made Convenient

**1924:**

It was a routine sort of thing. Choose a name, get on a train, head to the destination. Then, do the job, get back on a train, and head to the next one. Or just stay in that city, until he got another job. It was a day-to-day existence. But it was exciting, and it paid well. It was something he didn't regret; well, why bother, when he was the only real person, right? He didn't need any sympathy for the people he hunted. Most of them should have learned when to not get involved in such things… Or when to stop thinking they were too good to lose. To good to get caught double-crossing people they shouldn't. Too good to get past him. But none of them ever were. Well…

He'd only been doing this for a year; but it seemed ok enough, the way things worked. The way he, as an assassin, worked. Maybe. But what if there was a way to make things easier? A way to make his life more convenient. Less expensive. And to make him less noticeable. It would be getting suspicious, if he was seen on the same railways so much. He had to keep himself discreet, and it was annoying to go through so much trouble. He needed a better way to do things. Something that would get him where he needed to go without all the fuss.

And as the conductor passed by, Claire stared at him. Conductor… That was…

That was a wonderful idea. Wasn't it…

He could travel all over the country on the rails, without it seeming suspicious at all. After all, trains needed conductors, right? So if he could just… Then he would be ferried all over the country at no charge. In fact, he would be paid for his 'trouble'. And that was very good. Amazing, in fact. He almost surprised himself with the ideas he could think up, sometimes. And then…

He could go back and see the Gandors. If he wanted. Maybe not.

They'd been separated so long… Claire knew the brothers wouldn't hate him for that; being flighty was how he was. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to return to New York City. Not even for a job.

And though he had no family, no one to really worry and no one to miss, he couldn't shake that the Gandors were something like that. Weren't they? But what was family, anyway. He would see them if they had a job for him. Maybe. But that time hadn't come, so he preferred not to think about it too much.

In any case, so… Maybe he could be a conductor then. Well, he'd have to find a good station; one that sent trains everywhere, all over the country. Somewhere in the center of America. Somewhere big…

Like Chicago.

He was on his way to Los Angeles, at the moment.

But… He could probably make his way to Chicago. Once the job was done. Once nothing remained of his target except a mist of blood at the back of an alley. Once the man had been so utterly erased that no one would ever have cause to think of him again. Yes, to Chicago, once this man, this one man, had been sent to whatever maker he had. If he had any. Because if a man was his own god, and he died… He was surely not the god he thought himself to be. Just a weak, reckless human, made of such fragile skin and bones, of blood pumping through delicate veins and arteries. And soon, they wouldn't be pumping anything…

But that was a little gory of a soliloquy for a train ride, huh.

It wasn't a thing Claire really usually dwelled on.

Killing, that is.

He wasn't gonna be a freak, just because he was an assassin. He did what he did for the money, the satisfaction of a job well done, and… Something else. It was a something he couldn't really describe. But.

It was a fact that Claire Stanfield was really good at what he did.

Still, he wanted a permanent alias. Something that described the assassin, not the man.

There was a difference after all.

But he had no ideas. Not yet.

Maybe he would think of one after this next job.

Illegal… Something illegal, right? That's what he was. Like alcohol.

How funny…

It didn't stop him from drinking it. Claire liked a good red wine.

Red.

Like blood. Hm.

Wine, red wine.

'Vino'.

Wine.

It was… An interesting possibility. He could think of something else, if he decided he didn't like that later. But Vino… It had a nice ring to it. Claire would decide later.

And when he became a conductor… If he became a conductor. That would be… It was an issue that really wasn't very important at the moment. All he needed to focus on now was his jobs.

On the things that were absolutely necessary.

So he relaxed and watched the landscape blur by, thinking and wondering and waiting.

A conductor.

It sounded nice.


	3. Passengers

**A/N: Don't own Baccano! … Wish I did…**

Passengers Make the World Go 'Round

**1928:**

Tony said the passengers were the most important part of the train. Passengers gave the train purpose. They gave Tony purpose. They gave Claire purpose too.

And there were so many. Businessmen, on their way to jobs, like he was. Very different jobs, but the shared purpose was enough. It connected him to them.

Families traveling; on vacation, or going home, or to see family somewhere. The strong fathers, the lovely mothers, the innocent children. The children. They were very important. The most important. Maybe.

Because. They were innocent. They were defenseless. And. Like all the other passengers. They were in his care. Claire wouldn't stand for anyone to get hurt on a train he was conducting. Because that would mean he failed. And.

Claire Stanfield was always good at what he did.

So. His job, off the train was to kill. But his job on the train was to protect. And he would protect all of these people, on his trains, going about their mundane lives. While he lived twice in the shadows.

In the shadows of his own world.

It was a paradox, huh.

But Claire didn't mind. Because. It was his world, right? He was free to make it as paradoxical as he liked. And he did like it. Paradoxes. It gave him something to think about.

Oh.

But Tony told him; not to get off task on the job. Because the passengers were important. And you never knew… When they would say something.

That is, say something important. Something that would change your life forever.

So.

When the young girl; she couldn't be more than twelve, tugged on his sleeve, Claire's attention was on her immediately, a kind smile on his handsome face.

"Yes? What is it, ma'am?" he asked.

He knew kids; and they never responded well if. If you called them 'kid' or 'little miss' or anything that implied that they were small. Kids always wanted to be treated like adults. So. That's how Claire treated them. In any case.

The girl giggled into her hand, and gave him a big smirk.

"Hey, mister conductor… You seem real nice, so… I wanna tell ya something."

Claire nodded, imitating the girl's serious look.

"Well…" she continued dramatically. "Ya see, there's this monster that haunts railroads. So I want ya to be real careful, ok, mister? Cuz this monster, it can change into anything."

Into anything. A monster, huh? A kid with a thing for ghost stories. She was a pretty cool kid then. Claire liked ghost stories too. He used to… Tell them to Luck all the time. Scare the heck out of the bookish Gandor boy. And Luck was… Still scared of Poe. It made Claire smile because. His 'brother' was still. Just a child, no matter how adult he seemed to others.

"And it chases after trains at night… Each night getting closer. Closer and closer to the train… And when it catches up…"

Her pause was longer this time. She was breathless. It meant something. It meant that she was invested in this story. It excited her. It was important.

Important, like Tony said. But important enough to change his life? Maybe. Maybe not. He'd see. Because. The story wasn't done yet.

"When it catches up, people start vanishing from the train, mister! One by one. Starting in the back cars. And the back cars… Are where you sit, right mister? So be careful. Super careful. Cuz it might get ya. And I think you're nice, so… Don't let it get ya, ok?"

He nodded.

"Anything else I should know? How do you stop it?"

The girl's eyes shone. It was an expression of pure joy. Because. Someone was taking interest. Interest in _her_ story. The colors would fade, distort, over time. What color was her hair, her eyes? He wouldn't be able to recall later. But. Her expression would stay. He knew. Because. It was important.

"Well… You see, mister… Once all the people are gone, the empty ghost train, even as it's still rolling down the tracks, it vanishes! Poof! Just like that, and it's never seen again… And you see… It's real hard to stop the monster, but… I bet you could do it, mister. You look really strong."

She was sincere in that. He looked strong, huh? Well he hoped he did. Because. He was here to protect her, right? She had faith in him for that, and he was glad.

"Thank you, Miss…"

"Ellabeth," she told him, grinning. "Say, mister; what's your name?"

"It's Claire. Claire Stanfield."

Claire was a name he could use freely, because. Claire had no ties to Vino. So. His identity was safe. And that was good.

"Kinda a weird name for a guy, Mr. Claire," she grinned.

He paused, waiting for a further jab. It didn't come. That made him want to laugh. She didn't want to upset him. Probably. Because he was the only one who was listening to her story. Her rather impressive story. Maybe it was important after all. And he liked the idea of that.

"Anyway, Mr. Claire, like any sorta monster, you gotta beat it, if it shows up on the train. Otherwise it'll get ya. And what's scarier is. If you tell the story to someone while you're on a train…"

She paused, to let him think to himself. To think 'like we are now'. She was good. A very good storyteller, then. He grinned.

"Then, that'll be the one the monster gets next…" she whispered, as if relaying a dangerous secret.

As if she would know of things like that.

"But. The best way to make sure that the monster doesn't get the train… Is to believe it right away, when the person tells it to you. Tell me, Mr. Claire, do you believe?" Ellabeth asked seriously.

And he was hypnotized. Yes. It was true; this was very important. It was so important, so life changing, he knew. But he didn't know how. And he wouldn't. Not for a long time. And yet.

"Before I answer you, Miss Ellabeth… Tell me one thing," he asked softly, seriously, kindly.

She leaned in, to hear him.

"Does this monster of yours… Have a name?"

Ellabeth shivered at the intensity in his reddish gaze. This man, he was deadly serious. She didn't need him to answer if he believed her. Because. It was true that he did; she knew this beyond a doubt. And to repay such belief, she needed to answer. She had to. Ellabeth swallowed thickly.

"It's called… The Rail Tracer."

Rail. Tracer. The two words rolled around in his mind. Yes, yes, that seemed so right. As if he'd known all along and simply forgotten.

"Yes, Miss Ellabeth, I believe you. And don't worry."

He patted her on the head, smiling innocently.

"I'll protect everyone from the Rail Tracer. If ever he happens to show up. So don't worry."

She nodded slowly. Dazed. Hypnotized. Then they were even. Then she smiled at him and walked away. And he never saw her again. Not walking off the train. No family. He'd never seen her parents, so. He didn't know who to look for. Still. She was mysterious. And that was a surprising thing, to him. Because he'd never found anyone mysterious before. At least, anyone that was one of his passengers.

So they'd formed some sort of bond. That belief. Because. He knew if he believed it, it was true. The Rail Tracer was out there. Waiting. Watching. But Claire was waiting too.

And it became his good luck charm. Find someone on the train. Someone special. Someone who looked important. Not 'president' important, not 'senator' important. No. Important in the soul. Someone special.

And then he would look at them. See if he made the right choice. If they believed. And sometimes they did. Sometimes they didn't. It didn't matter much. To him, at least. Because. If the Rail Tracer did get to the train. He would be there to kill it. And.

Claire Stanfield was very good at what he did.

He remembered. Once Ellabeth had gone. He'd tested the words out on his tongue, to see. See if they rolled as smoothly off the tongue as they did off the brain.

"Rail Tracer."

And it just felt right.

The Rail Tracer.

The perfect monster.

And it would be his, all his.

The story of Claire Stanfield.

Vino.

The Rail Tracer.

And who would win in the end?

Who knew. After all…

He didn't know whose side the Rail Tracer was really on.

Until. That year.

When he was finally called home, by his brothers.

Because in the end, he decided, that yes.

They were family, instead of merely something like it.

1931.

His first time conducting Tony's lady.

The Flying Pussyfoot.

And it would change his life.

Forever.


	4. Freedom

**A/N: Awesome, only two left! Still am having no legal rights to Baccano! Don't sue, I'm broke.**

Vino's Freedom Gains Wings and Makes Tracks Easily

**1926:**

He'd only barely just started. His job, that is. Not the first one. The one he'd decided on. A train conductor. Well. He was still 'in training'. By some old guy named Tony. And already. Already, he felt free.

So alive. Because. Claire was flighty. And. As everyone who knew him knew, he craved adventure. It was why he'd left. Left the Big Apple to join the circus. Because. It sounded exciting at the time.

And he knew. Deep down, hoped, really that. He hadn't broken his brothers' hearts. But they were tough. Like he was. And. How could you be anything else? When you lived in a world like theirs? Of mafia and crime and bootlegged alcohol.

So. He knew they'd be ok. Hopefully. But he missed them. And his thoughts turned to them often.

Was Luck reading, again? Reading Poe and shivering? Was Keith as silent as ever? Had Berga broken another table?

But surely. Everything was fine. Because. He had heard nothing from the Gandors. And so. Everything must be going at least relatively fine. Because. They knew, if ever they needed help. With any sort of problem. They could call Claire. After all.

Claire Stanfield was very good at what he did.

So. This was good. He was traveling. Everywhere. All over the country. It was perfect. He wasn't tied down. To anyone. To anything. To anywhere. Each city was as good as the next. It was perfect.

Sitting in the last car. As Tony explained the rules, explained his job. And watching the tracks slip by, so easily. Like they were flying. It was a truly beautiful thing.

Claire knew. That people running thought so too. Yeah. There would be a few. Running from crime. Running from exes. Running from poverty. Running to opportunity. Running to hope. Running to family.

And. The rails were good for that.

Running far and fast. Claire knew that personally. He was running too. But.

Claire wasn't really running _from_ anything. Or _to_ anything either. For that matter. Just running.

Or flying. Maybe that worked better. The metaphor plucked at the back of his mind, as if he'd used it before. Maybe he had.

Like everything else about Claire's life, his thoughts were usually quite fleeting. He would have them, and. Once they were finished, they had to move out. Make room for new thoughts. Because he had so many different ones. About many different things. And they came and left. Like fireworks. And. That was usually ok.

Though it meant he probably repeated himself often. In his inner monologue. Somehow. He was better able to remember what he said aloud. It probably saved him lots of embarrassment. Probably.

Claire wasn't quite sure. Sure what feeling embarrassment was like. He supposed it was hard for him to make mistakes. Since. It was his world, after all. And. What kind of loser makes mistakes. In their own world? The one where they're at the center? It seemed pretty ridiculous.

But it really didn't matter. No. Not really. Because. He was free, free. Open, and out there. In the big world. Outside New York. Off the East Coast. Passing landscapes. Unfamiliar to him. And everything was new again.

New and exciting.

He loved it.

He could almost feel it. Even when he was inside the train.

Wind.

Pressing against him forcefully. Rustling his red hair. Yeah. And then. Then he really was. Flying, that is. Yeah. Flying.

He didn't tell Tony.

About the train-walking. Because. Hey. He was an old guy. Right? So.

But besides. Why would Tony need to know. Anyway?

Keeping secrets. Was part of Claire's freedom. It was something exciting. Adrenaline. Pounding in his ears. His heartbeat. Yeah. And he wasn't going to admit something. That anyone could try to stop him from doing. No. He really liked train-walking.

He could almost. Feel out the train. Its essence. From its shape. And he thought. Maybe. The train could see his essence too. Maybe.

And they had a cooperation. Almost. He and the trains. They were his ticket. To freedom. Funny. He didn't really need them anymore, now, did he. Tickets.

But that was really beside the point. Right. Because. Freedom was. About more than just wind and trains. Right? It was about being loose. Not having to worry. About anyone else. The freedom to hop on a train and go.

The freedom to propose to some lovely girl. And then. When she said no. They always did. He could just go. And move on. Find another girl. A prettier one. That made him different. Huh. Because.

Even though he was the flighty one. He still wanted to settle down. Eventually. Maybe. But. Maybe that's why he proposed first. Because. He knew they would say no. But. He also knew. That none of those women could ever keep up. None of them were strong enough. To keep up with him. His lifestyle. It was the honest truth.

But Claire was well invested. In the art of self-deception. Only one problem. He was too clever for that. It made a tricky paradox. But it was fun. A fun game. While it lasted.

And Claire liked games. He enjoyed them.

But.

The best were the dangerous ones.

Because.

Claire Stanfield was very good at what he did.

And he never lost a game.

At least. One he was invested in.

And the best games. Were always dangerous.

Adrenaline. Pushing. A struggle.

His life was a life of struggles. Except.

He wasn't doing the struggling.

No. Claire was too good for that. Too skilled.

And he could afford to relax. Once in a while.

So.

He leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes. Watched through a veil of lashes. As Tony smiled and shook his head. Yeah. Maybe the old guy wasn't so bad. Claire would see.

Until then.

Claire drifted off.

Into a place between alertness. And sleeping.

And he dreamed.

Of wings and trains.

And the wind.

And strong hands brushing the stars.

Claire was flying.

And he was free.


	5. Curiosity

**A/N: I do not own Baccano or Claire Stanfield (or any other Baccano characters who happen to be mentioned)**

The Curiosity of Children is Released in Many People

**1931:**

It had been Claire's first time conducting without Tony. And though it went exactly the same as every other time… It was interesting. It peaked his curiosity. Because. It was a new sensation.

Being alone in the last car.

Especially. Because. It was Tony's lady. He was conducting the Flying Pussyfoot.

And he languidly studied the compartment. A thing he had never had the time or the confidence to do before, in front of Tony. He was still guarded. Even with Tony. Because. He still wasn't sure. Sure of anything. And Claire didn't want to reveal that weakness to anyone. That he cared very much for his mentor. The fatherly old man who taught him so much.

In any case. Claire couldn't deny the fact. That he was fascinated. Fascinated with the trains. He hid it pretty well. But he so just wanted to know. To know everything about trains. Their shape. Their size. How they worked. Where they were going.

They were elegant. In a way he couldn't describe.

They were a thing that would become classic; they would be something ingrained in American culture. He was sure. Even if they were used less and less. Because. Trains were something special. And Claire knew. In his world, trains would always be treasured. At least. By someone. By him. And. That was all that mattered.

And then. That other man; the other one who would be conducting with him, walked in. And Claire couldn't help himself. Somehow. He was so elated. So curious. So on edge. So. He started his story.

Even though. That story. It had already been told that night. To a couple, this time.

She had long blonde hair. And. Wore an elegant red dress. She was lovely. Though she looked ditzy. And. She repeated her companion's words often. It was cute. They were obviously. Very close. And it had actually made Claire smile.

He couldn't remember.

The last time.

That he'd smiled and meant it.

The man was tall, with darker, sandy hair. He was wearing a cowboy getup. The two were totally conspicuous. From the top of their heads to the bottoms of their toes. But they went together so well. And.

They'd looked special.

Bright.

Curious.

Like children.

And that connection instantly made Claire want to protect them. Because. He had a feeling. A feeling that things were about to get interesting. And dangerous. Very dangerous.

But.

He told them the story.

And they'd looked so serious. Wide-eyed. He almost felt bad for telling them. Until. They'd grinned. And then. They gave him a thumbs-up. Told him that it was so very courteous to have told them. And. That he could beat off that monster for sure.

But, the man had said. If you can't, I'll handle it! I'll handle it.

And Claire laughed.

That was before he'd remembered.

What a funny thing.

That he'd forgotten why he was on this train. The Flying Pussyfoot. The train that ran from Chicago to New York. Nonstop.

He'd been called home. Called by his brothers. Because. The Gandors needed help. Help from him. And. When even those three couldn't handle something. It was a big deal. It was urgent.

And Claire could hardly wait to find out what was happening. He was curious. Excited. Flighty. Itching to get into the action. Willing to do anything to protect the people closest to him.

But. That was beside the point. He thought.

Because. As soon as that man. The other conductor. Began to tell his own story. Claire knew things were spiraling down. Out of control. But not his control. Because.

Claire Stanfield was very good at what he did.

And he wouldn't accept this man, trying to make his own story. To defile the Rail Tracer. And. To try and harm his passengers. Claire would not let that happen. Ever. Especially. Because of that couple. They were important. Important somehow. So very important.

And he had backed up. Feigned fear. He had this man dancing in the palm of his hand. And then, when the gun was held up. Claire kicked. And he grinned at the action. Catching the gun in his hand. Yeah. This felt right. And he pulled the trigger.

And then there had been another one. Another intruder. On his train. In that uniform. The one that had become sacred to him.

And something broke. When he heard that man had killed Tony. Something broke, deep inside of him. And the mercy went out the window. If it had ever been there. No. Claire would make sure. All of these people. These black suits. White suits. Yeah, they'd get what was coming to them. What was coming to anyone who tried to hurt his passengers. To anyone who harmed the people he cared about.

And it was curious.

It made him realize.

What he'd been pondering.

Because.

He'd known the Rail Tracer was 'out there'. But.

Out where?

And suddenly, his curiosity was assuaged. Because. The Rail Tracer was a creature of vengeance. And it was inside of him. And Claire realized. That everything had been leading up to this moment. The world was crashing around him. Like waves against the shore.

And the monster was in him.

And it was him.

And it was such a feeling. Something he'd never felt before. And. Claire was alive. Alive with passion and rage, and…

And there she was.

That woman.

Chane. Chane Laforet.

And damn, she was lovely. Beautiful.

And there was something special about her. Something fierce. And he'd hate to have to kill her.

So.

At least that white-suited psycho was good for something.

Because. He'd learned that Chane wasn't with the black suits. Wasn't agreeing with them. She wanted to protect her father. And she was… Different.

She was someone mysterious. Who Claire wanted to learn more about.

Because.

She could keep up with him. Unlike any other woman.

And she was perfect, in his eyes. Not without flaw, but perfect all the same.

And then, once again.

Curiosity.

That woman in the white dress.

So, she was truly, truly in love with that man. The one in the white suit. Who was so, so angry. The one who would die. But.

Claire didn't mean any harm to the woman. No. She'd done nothing to him. And. It wasn't his style to hurt an innocent woman like that. But. He so wanted to know. What would this white-suited thug do?

Yes. Claire had never encountered so many things that made him curious all at once. So. Tony's lady was a special lady indeed.

And when the man had dived off, had grabbed the woman, that Lua…

It almost warmed his heart. So.

He wasn't merely a thug. Huh.

How curious.

But he hadn't had time to rest.

Especially.

When that couple had been in danger.

He'd caught them. Of course. But.

Even Claire Stanfield wasn't strong enough to bring them in.

So he'd found someone who was.

Because. Claire Stanfield would not let his passengers die. Never.

Especially. Not two so curious and happy people like that.

And. All in all.

It was a crazy, flighty, curious, gory day.

And it was a day just like Claire Stanfield.

Vino.

Yeah.

Just another day.


	6. Tony

**A/N: I own no Baccano! A shame, truly…**

Tony's Heart Flies Across the Rails from Chicago to New York

**1932:**

Long gone.

That was Tony.

Long gone.

Claire squeezed Chane's hand tightly.

She squeezed back. It was comforting to him, if only just. But. Chane could speak volumes with no words at all.

She didn't understand it. His pain. No. She wouldn't understand things like that for a long, long time. Not she, who had never been loved. Not she, who had never had a friend in the world. Even her father had never said he loved her.

His loss.

Because. Chane was an amazing woman. And Huey was missing it. Too wrapped up in his tests and his theories and his formulas. An utter shame.

Claire knew he wasn't shaking. He wasn't. No.

Not shaking, as he looked up at that train. And those were not tears prickling at his eyes. Claire was not weak enough to cry for sadness. He smiled instead. It was that time. That time again.

He could hardly believe it had only been a year. It seemed like so much had happened since then. And he had seen his family. Seen the Gandors once again. And brushed it off like he hadn't been gone for so many years. Gone for…

He couldn't even remember. How very long.

But. He wasn't here for that.

And Claire saw, through his reddish bangs, could see Chane's lips lift, just so slightly in a comforting smile. God, she was beautiful.

She nodded, and they stepped onto the train together. The Flying Pussyfoot. It was that train. Tony's lady.

And. Claire actually knew a lot about Tony.

Tony had had no children. No wife. His only love was the rails and the people who rode them. Every family that boarded was Tony's family. Every businessman was his coworker. Every child was his very own.

That was how Tony was. He'd had such a deep heart.

Tony had been wild in his youth. A thief, on the streets of Chicago. Like so many others. And yet… He'd set himself right, in the end. Seen the light. Saw it when he saw the trains.

He fell in love with them. Love at first sight.

And he had begged and pleaded and finally, finally been accepted, and there he was, and he was Tony.

Tony's birthday was May 3rd. He could have taken the day off. He never did. He'd said the best gift, for him, was to see the people milling through the train, to get a smile or a nod as he passed. And, he told Claire, he was so very lucky, because he got these things every day.

Tony was gone.

Tony, who had all but taken Claire's hand. Helped him feel the life of the trains. Helped him live in a way entirely new to him. Helped Claire feel open compassion; for so many people, on such a new level. The protectiveness Tony felt for his passengers, Claire inherited.

And, Claire knew, that of all his five reasons, Tony was the most complete. Curiosity and Convenience had been first. But. Tony had been the most important. Tony was always the most important.

Tony the father. Tony the teacher. It was a bond Claire held close, in a world where betrayal and death ran rampant. And now…

If only.

He wished.. Claire wished that Tony could have met Chane. He would have liked her. Said she was a smartly made woman. Told Claire, only half-joking, not to propose and run. Would have told him that he wouldn't get another lady this lovely in his life again. And then he would have turned to Chane, and seen the depth in her eyes.

Because it was there. Depth.

Oceans of emotions, tumultuous. Swells of fear, pain… Confusion.

And… Love?

Claire could hope so. But.

He knew he could take things slow for Chane. Because. She was worth waiting up for. Claire was impatient. But he could feel it slipping away as he gazed into her eyes. He would wait forever. No. Longer than that.

And. It wouldn't be half as fun to just have a happy ending and be done with it. Not that Chane would ever be boring. No. She was fierce and warm and bright and witty, and he loved her, loved her more than he had ever loved anything.

And that was why.

It was why he had to share this part of himself with her. This part he hadn't even shown the Gandors, his brothers.

The part of him that lived on, on these rails. That could sense that Tony was there, too. And it was like he had never left.

Like who had never left?

Claire?

Or Tony?

Maybe both.

And he grabbed her wrist, and stood atop the train, felt the breeze slapping against them, took a deep breath.

Yes.

A part of this would always be home. With the wind in his hair and Chicago at his back, racing on towards New York. This railway was home. It lived, breathed, its essence was Tony. He was this train, these tracks, this route.

And then Claire turned to the woman he loved.

Yes, the rails were home. The rails were Tony.

But.

Home is wherever Chane is.

And being here with her was more perfect than he could ever imagine.

His world was a utopia in this moment.

It had gotten just a little bigger.

And it was so sweet.

And Claire could taste victory on his tongue.

The stars were glittering above them, winking gladly.

Claire threw out his arms.

He was flying again.

And he couldn't ask for any better company.

おわり


End file.
